"Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. She bolted awake in the large bed which was awash in a sea of silks, furs, and red curtains. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. With such qualifications as she possessed, two chief channels of employment lay open, and neither attracted her, neither seemed really to offer a conclusive escape from that subjection to mankind against which, in the person of her father, she was rebelling.
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